


Twists & Turns of Fate

by pureklaination



Series: Year In The Life [4]
Category: Glee / Teen Wolf RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:30:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureklaination/pseuds/pureklaination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where shit gets messy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twists & Turns of Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crisscobrien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisscobrien/gifts).



> Part 1 of Valentines

It had been 3 days, 5 hours, 23 minutes and 33 seconds since Dylan had heard anything from Darren. Which of course is a perfectly reasonable time between text messages, especially with them both back at work now. Darren had started back at filming a few days ago and there had been a noticeable decline in the amount of messages, emails, hell _interaction_.

He was not going to say a single thing about it either. Nope, there was no way two nights together would turn Dylan into a mopey, needy teenager. It would probably help if they had settled some sort of definition on their relationship. But then again, a one night stand and a single date did not equal anything concrete.

But Dylan wouldn't mind concrete. Sure, it would be difficult to try and maintain an actual relationship between filming and two very busy careers, but he could totally make it work. Not to mention trying to explain to his castmates why he suddenly had no time for them.

The point was moot anyway if Darren was going to sleep with him and then not talk to him for a few days after. Twice.

Shaking his head to clear it, Dylan put his phone down and sighed into the mirror. This suit was definitely not his favourite, but his stylist, otherwise known as Kim, had said that it was the exact cut to accentuate his figure and blah blah blah… He’d zoned out after that. It didn’t really matter what he wore to these award nights anyway. It’s not like people outside the mainstream fans really paid attention to him.

Unless of course Darren was there, which was the train of thought that had lead Dylan to picking up his phone in the first place. He could just flick off a text and ask. It was a vicious circle. Though because texting him now and asking if he was going to be at the awards show could just be clingy.

He finished up in the bathroom and went back to the dining room. Kim was sitting on one of the black chairs pushed into the table entertaining herself with lining up bottles of product for who knows what. Dylan sat down on the next chair down and let her get to work.

They started with a bowtie, Dylan liked that - especially now with his _thing_ with Darren, because Darren liked bowties.

_Jesus, he had it bad._

Finally, he was announced ready to go and Kim asked him for a picture for her file - she was still so polite even though they had been working together for months now. He was used to the inevitable picture session after every ensemble.

Dylan’s limo arrived shortly after and he was whisked away to the awards show, still unable to control the dull burst of nerves that came with being put on display in public like that. The red carpet was over in a flash -- pun intended -- and he found himself seated towards the back, but along the centre of the audience.

Surprised at the positioning, but otherwise happy to sit and accept a drink from the helpful staff, Dylan thought again that maybe, he should have paid attention to what this awards show was for. Something to do with artistry and he knew for certain that they weren't nominated for anything.

If he was completely honest with himself there was no possible reason to have been there really. That didn’t stop him from ordering drinks, clapping as the awards were being passed out and consecutively scanning the crowd for anyone he knew.

“Annnnd the winner is… _Chris Colfer_.”

Dylan’s head snapped up quickly to see if Chris was even there to accept his award in person. There he was, walking to the stage from much closer in the audience. Dylan clapped his hands politely while Chris thanked a bunch of people. This must be from one of his numerous side projects because he didn’t say anything about Glee… Or Darren.

He watched as Chris finished speaking and made his way backstage, then again as he came out of a side door looking pleased, to retake his seat. The cameras never seemed far away from him after that. Now that Dylan knew where he was sitting he had a difficult time paying attention to the rest of the awards, distracted by Chris in his eyeline talking to someone in the seat next to him and only remembering to clap after everyone around him snapped him back into reality.

An hour or so later, Dylan was being ushered out of his seat and towards the exit point where a bunch of limos were waiting to take people to the afterparties. His publicist must have made arrangements because the driver asked his name and pulled away from the curb.

Dylan was delivered to a mansion beside a lake, oddly reminiscent of the last afterparty he had attended. Everyone hovered around in groups chatting and drinking crazy amounts of alcohol. He didn’t know anyone and this was quickly turning into an unmitigated disaster.

Collecting a drink from one of the waitstaff with a polite nod of his head, Dylan made his way around the room, looking at the art mostly, for something to do. Maybe it would make him seem cultured in this room full of fancy-dressed ‘important people.’

Really, Dylan didn’t know why he was here at all. Kim hadn’t given him much to work with, neither had his publicist - just a curt, _“you’ve been requested to attend…”_. He should probably start paying more attention to the who’s and what’s and where’s because all he had to look forward to at this point was free booze and smalltalk.

He made himself comfortable on a couch next to the back door and just on the outskirts of a group having a conversation about red carpet etiquette. _Honestly_. But it was close enough that he looked like a casual observer and if he paid attention and nodded occasionally maybe no one would notice that he didn’t have anyone to talk too.

Dylan accepted another drink, and another, and another, steadily becoming less interested in the topic at hand (rude paparazzi encounters) and fighting the urge to pull out his phone and play Candy Crush.

“Dylan? What are you doing here?” And there was Chris himself, standing in front of the couch.

Dylan’s eyes refocused from the spot on the wall, to Chris’s face and he stood too quickly, making the blood rush around in his head. He wound up ungracefully gripping Chris’s hand to steady himself instead of shaking it. “Chris! Hi, how are you,” he said, greeting him like Dylan hadn’t been caught potentially banging his co-star last week.

Chris half-smiled and retreated his hand slowly, almost like he was waiting for Dylan to sway over again. “I’m good -- we’ve gone back to filming.” No doubt who the “we” implied, Dylan shrugged it off. Sure, Chris got to spend a bunch of time with Darren on set but Dylan had no idea where they stood after the other night. Chris and Darren or him and Darren, for that matter.

“Yeah… That’s good.” He couldn’t think of anything further to say, so Dylan busied himself accepting another drink from a passing waiter.

“Do you think maybe you’ve had enough?” Chris asked, sounding surprisingly concerned but taking a drink for himself as well.

Dylan shrugged, but took a seat back on the couch anyway - just in case. He motioned for Chris to sit down too, because it was polite and he didn’t have anything else to do, anyway. “So, congratulations on… Your award?” He said while Chris took a seat on the couch next to him.

“Thank you,” Chris smiled genuinely this time, it went all the way to his eyes, Dylan noticed. And his eyes were pretty. “It was a big surprise and a huge honor.”

Dylan smirked, “You’ve practiced that line, haven’t you?”

Chris scowled a bit at first, but grudgingly nodded, “It will look lovely on my wall, though.”

“I want to apologise for the other night.” Chris said, apropos of nothing and catching Dylan completely off guard.

“No- no, you were checking up on your friend, I can respect that.” Dylan replied quickly, all hopes of the conversation being anything but awkward leaving his head.

Chris sighed loudly, finishing his drink in two mouthfuls and stood up, “Come on - we need to talk and it’s too crowded in here.”

Dylan stood, still woozy from the sheer amount of alcohol he’d consumed, and motioned for a waiter. Chris raised an eyebrow which clearly said _’really, another?’_. Dylan requested a bottle of water and then followed Chris out the back door. There were small picnic tables set up in the extensive garden behind the house, with candles in the centerpieces laid on each white tablecloth. Fairy lights twinkled from the gardens edge, probably to discourage people from walking into it.

Chris motioned towards one of the tables and Dylan took the seat opposite him, a little grateful to be sitting down again and nursing his water. Chris had grabbed another drink as well and placed that on a coaster in front of himself.

“So Dylan, what’s it like working on a hit TV show?” He asked.

Dylan couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at that, “You probably know better than I, given that you’ve been in the business longer.”

“But Teen Wolf is so different from Glee, it must be heaps of fun playing with the prosthetics and all the _running_.” Chris took another sip of his drink after he’d finished talking.

Dylan shrugged, picking up his glass of sparkling water for something to do with his hands, “It’s pretty average? Waking up at the asscrack of dawn to stand around bored for an hour while the crew sets up…”

Chris nodded, “I know that feeling, but the grass is always greener on someone elses set, you know?”

“Meanwhile I wouldn’t mind not being covered in fake blood for a few hours, dancing around on stage looks like fun.” They both smiled, meeting eyes above the candle in the center of the table. Finally finding some common ground dulled the atmosphere around the table a little bit, Dylan could see what Darren liked about Chris; he was witty and fast in conversation. Damn it.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Chris was doing the same thing in his head, weighing his own attributes alongside Dylan’s as Darren would see them. But then, the last time Dylan had seen Chris - he had a boyfriend on his arm and was all too happy to ignore Darren for the most part. But he didn’t really know what was going on with them, or what had gone on with them in the past. He’d asked Darren and got that they used to date, but he still felt like he’d been judged and found wanting by Chris.

“We talked about last week, Darren and I.” Dylan nodded, waiting for Chris to elaborate. “He likes you.”

“Okay.” Dylan replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Yeah.” Chris added sounding resigned.

Dylan looked at his water in disdain, he was going to need a lot more scotch if he wanted to get through this damn conversation. To Chris he said, “I’m not sure what you want me to say, he asked me out and we had a good time - I like him too but, I’m not sure why any of this is your business.” It came out ruder than he’d intended.

“It’s not but - I just wanted you - I don’t even know why I keep bringing it up,” Chris said, sighing again. “I care about him.”

Oh. As far as what Darren had told him, he and Chris were over a long time ago. But then there’s Chris who sounded like he’s trying to let Dylan down softly and what in the ever-loving hell was going on? “I think that if you have something to say to Darren, you should say it to him, not me.” Dylan said, motioning a hovering waiter over and grabbing a Scotch off of the tray.

Chris looked surprised by the tone of Dylan’s reply, but Dylan stood firm meeting his eyes cooly.

“Dylan…” Chris started, “please don’t take it like that - I just meant -”

Chris’s tone sounded like he was trying to placate and Dylan had had enough, “Chris, this isn’t a pissing contest. If you want me to back off I will, but I don’t think it’s very fair of you to be telling me this when a few weeks ago you were out with a different guy and ignoring Darren anyway.”

“We broke up,” Chris added. “And you don’t actually know anything about me.”

“Well, good for you.” Dylan took a breath, trying to re-organize his thoughts and tried not to look at Chris across the table, “You guys have history, I understand that - but singling me out at a party and telling to back off is hardly the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Dylan couldn’t read Chris’s face, he seemed to be thinking. So he took another drink and sat back on the chair. There was no one left around them now. Quickly checking his watch Dylan balked at the time, 3am. Definitely time to be going. But at the same time, whatever was going on with Chris was clearly not resolved and the last thing he needed was Chris going to set on Monday and telling Darren that Dylan had gotten upset at him at a party.

“This is ridiculous,” Dylan said while standing up, “We should get out of here. It’s past the cutoff time for guests.”

Chris looked up at him from his seat at the table and nodded. “Can we…go somewhere else and talk? I don’t want to leave things like this.”

Dylan had to admit a certain amount of intrigue at the invite, “I’m not sure what else we have to discuss.” He answered coolly.

“Let’s grab a coffee or something? I know a café nearby,” Chris suggested.

Why would this possibly be a good idea? “Yeah okay, whatever,” Dylan replied.

Walking out the front door and onto the street together there weren't many people left milling around. A couple of ushers asked if either had a car waiting and Chris shook his head no. With that they continued on down the block, Chris seemed nervous though, walking with his head down low and hands in his pockets. “We’ll talk in a minute, okay?” He asked to the pavement.

“Okay, why?” Dylan asked.

Motioning across the road Chris continued with, “Because there’s at least two photographers camped out behind that bush over there, and every time I leave anywhere it shows up in some trashy magazine the next day. And I’m leaving with _you_ no matter how innocuous you and I know this is. Darren may shit bricks.”

 _Oh._ Dylan bit into his lip, but stayed quiet for the few minutes it took Chris to direct him to a little 24-hour cafe about a block away. He used the time to study Chris’ outfit in his peripheral vision, there was no doubt about it he was dressed to the nines - impeccable tailoring, nice colouring it was a wonder that Chris wasn’t asked to model, really. Or maybe he had been? Dylan’s drunk mind supplied.

Not that he was checking Chris out, Dylan was still drunk, really. Especially after learning that Chris had broken up with his boyfriend and then found time to hang out with Darren to ‘talk’ about their unfortunate encounter. Dylan was reasonably sure that he and Chris could easily have been friends, but this kind of threw a spanner in the works.

Meanwhile, now they had passed the paps Chris looked up and gave Dylan a half-smile, like they were co-conspirators in a James Bond film. They certainly looked the part at least.

“Right, here we are.” Chris said, walking inside the café and picking out a booth in the back corner. It was still fairly bright inside, but the large bay windows had blockout curtains closed over them for the night. Probably why Chris chose this place, less chance they would be photographed looking cosy in a diner together dressed to the nines at 4am.

Everything felt a bit more real in here, away from the dark ambience of the garden. Dylan still felt drunk, but calmer. More in control. He ordered a coffee and Chris a hot chocolate and slipped the waitress his card from it’s concealed slip in his phone case.

When the drinks came, Chris stirred two sugars into the mix and offered the sugar container to Dylan who declined. Coffee, milk, no sugar.

“Right,” Chris said, “where were we?”

Dylan took a sip of his coffee. It was molten lava, and put his cup down. “Something about never being friends?” He suggested unhelpfully.

Chris rolled his eyes, “I’m not going to say that I’m not interested in getting back together with Darren, but that’s kind of his choice don’t you think?” He asked.

No choice but to look up now, given that his coffee was too hot to drink Dylan replied, “It’s hardly rational that we make the choice for him.”

“Good, so we agree?” Chris said, taking a steady sip of his hot chocolate.

Dylan nodded and watched while Chris’s tongue flicked against his upper lip to catch any marshmallow residue. The guy really was disgustingly handsome and it should not be allowed at that time in the morning.

“What chance do I stand, really?” Dylan asked, looking back down at his cup, “You’ve got it all going for you, don’t you?”

Chris looked up sharply, “What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re with him all day working on romantic scenes…How the hell does someone like me even get a look in?” Maybe he had had too much to drink, but it was so easy for Dylan to think through the many _many_ reasons Darren wouldn’t be looking for something serious from him. For a start, the guy was kind of hopeless at answering text messages. How would they even have time for conversation?

“Um,” Chris tapped Dylan’s hand, jolting him back to reality “I don’t think you see yourself the way he sees you. I’ve hurt him, he’s in no rush to repeat the experience, let me tell you.”

Dylan was so ready for his conversation to be over. Everything about Chris fed on his insecurities right down to the cute pointed nose and perfectly even teeth. He stood up, “Chris, I’m going to call it a night. Thanks for-” waving his hand over the table “-whatever this was.”

Chris stood up quickly after him, “If you tell me right here, right now, that you will never break his heart I will walk away from the idea of a relationship with Darren right now and never look back.”

Dylan scoffed, “Says the guy who hurt him the most to begin with, get over yourself.”

Chris gaped and moved to stop him from leaving, the air between them crackling with words unsaid. Chris was standing stock still in front of him, probably expecting some sort of apology.

With a nod in Chris’s direction, Dylan walked out of the café and ended up standing around for a few minutes awkwardly until an empty cab approached. Groggily, he gave the driver his address and was woken up a few minutes later in his own driveway.

***

The first thing Dylan was aware of the next morning was the taste of his own tongue, dry and _disgusting_. Second was the feeling like someone had taken an axe to the top of his head, exacerbated by the fact that he tried to move his arm far enough to reach the bottle of water on his bedside table from two nights ago.

The water tasted stale, but was better than his mouth, so he drank half of it before flopping back on the pillow. Flashes of the night before came back to him slowly.

He looked at the clock, 2pm _shit_ no wonder he felt like ass.

As luck would have it, his phone was still in his pocket - flat as a pancake and no amount of sweet talk would get it to turn on.

Sighing dramatically, Dylan slipped his legs off the bed leaving himself still awkwardly laying down. Flipped over so he could crawl backwards and without moving too much plug the stupid thing in.

From his vantage point on the floor next to the power point, he considered that maybe after two or three years he should probably clean underneath his bed. Especially if anyone other than Tyler ever ended up coming over for a visit.

“ _I bet Chris doesn’t have a billion dust bunnies and old pairs of sneakers under his bed,_ ” Dylan said out loud to no one in particular and winced as his head gave a piercing throb. Clutching the top of his scalp as if that would make it better he tried pressing the power button on his phone again.

“Finally.”

Rapidly several different tones went off one after another - emails, sms, voicemail. They all SUCKED why the fuck was the volume up so high anyway? _argh_.

Apparently the 500 texts and 20 missed calls weren't fucking _enough_ because his phone started ringing obnoxiously in his hand.

Darren.

Maybe he should have answered it, but there was an ominous rolling in his stomach and -- stuff the headache, he ran to the bathroom.

This was never going down in the hall of fame for Dylan’s proudest moments but six minutes later he was curled up on the bathroom floor having emptied his stomach and possibly his entire being into the toilet.

At least he was closer to the Tylenol in here, but the sink was so far away. Bracing himself, Dylan shakily got to his knees and rifled around in the cabinet under the sink until he found what he was looking for.

Three Tylenol and a cup of water later he made it back to his room and grabbed his phone. There were two more voicemails and Dylan deleted them without listening. It would be too easy to to just fall back into bed with Darren like it was easy as anything.

***

Dylan didn’t remember much about his conversation with Chris, just the basics. Chris was trying to fix his relationship with Darren to try it all again.

Darren on the other hand, had tried to call a few times then sent him an sms with an overabundance of sad faces.

He could do this, Dylan thought. Darren couldn’t possibly have wanted him anyway. Also, he really needed to take the next few days and clean out his house. That would keep him busy enough to not do something stupid like call Darren back.

***

The phone stops ringing sporadically two days into Dylan’s self-professed confinement. He could admit (only to himself) that having Darren give up so easily was reminiscent of being stabbed in the stomach with a blunt instrument.

He could have done something about it, answered one of the half a dozen calls or texts but something stopped him.

Dylan needed to get out now, or risk his heart.


End file.
